Carla's humiliation reaches a new level when her husband Matt gets her into a French maid's uniform so she can serve him and his girlfriend. Unfortunately for her, Matt knows exactly how to get his wife to do what he wants. And her boss Katy is only too happy to play along...

“Holy shit. You look incredible.” I blushed at the compliment, and immediately felt ashamed. My husband had forced me into this humiliating costume, and yet I was pleased at his praise. He walked slowly towards me, every line of his body radiating animalistic desire. I shuddered as his hands held my narrow waist, and he gently but irresistibly turned me around to face myself in the full-length mirror of the bedroom closet door.
I looked like a pervert’s wet dream. My shoulders were bared by the skimpy outfit, a frilly choker of white lace around my neck. I had pulled my hair back in a loose ponytail to keep it out of the way. My breasts swelled over the white lace trim at the top of the low-cut dress, a deep cleavage that threatened to spill out over the satin fabric with every movement I made, every breath I took. The black satin corset I had struggled to put on enhanced the effect, forcing me to take shallow breaths from the top of my chest and pushing my boobs up high above my drastically reduced waist. The crisp white apron was tied around the narrowest point of my waist, sharply contrasting with the deep black satin of the flared skirt. The skirt was barely long enough to cover my ass, and the I risked exposure with every movement. The obligatory white petticoats swirled around my thighs in an explosion of frilly white lace, and the garters that held up my black stockings were plainly visible below the hem of the revealing skirt. Long black satin gloves that rose above my elbows and hugged my arms tightly were a nice touch, I had to concede. And of course, my feet were encased in black patent leather pumps that shone wickedly, with a spiked high heel that had to be five inches tall and made me sway and totter with every step as I tried to move elegantly. I watched Matt in the mirror as he stood behind me, his arms around my skinny waist and his head lowered to kiss my neck.
“You look sexy as hell,” he murmured, and a thrill of arousal echoed through my body. Ok, I had to admit, he was right. I did look hot, albeit in the most embarrassingly slutty way possible. I looked almost a different person, with the heavy make-up on my face helping to create the illusion that this was someone else staring back at me from the mirror, some wanton slut good only for fucking and serving. Matt had not included panties in the outfit he had provided for me, and beneath the multiple waves of swishing petticoats the bare air tickled my pussy as my arousal grew. I could feel Matt’s erection as it rose against me, pushing its way through the layers of satin and lace, and the thought that I was turning him on fanned the flames of my own arousal as I contemplated the two of us in the mirror, the tall, handsome man and his sexy little maid. My boobs jiggled in the costume as my breath came in rapid gasps. It was nice to know, I suppose, that even though he had a girlfriend now, who we both knew was far more beautiful than me, I could still get my husband excited. Even if I had to dress like a slut.
“Thank you, Sir,” I whispered. It’s hard to be defiant when you’re wearing a French maid’s uniform straight out of a porn movie. Besides, I didn’t want to defy him anymore. I wanted to be his submissive little maid, as I felt again his lips on my neck and watched my made-up eyelids flutter in the mirror. It felt good to be desired, and I gave myself over to the thrill of sexual subjugation as I felt his hard cock pulse against my ass.'